Thumbs Up
I once tried to wind a homophobic workmate a little excessively after a few too many beers. APPARENTLY I tried to stick my thumb up his arse. I have absolutely no recollection of this.

I should probably point out that I'm actually straight. But what's REALLY weird is that although I have no recollection of the event itself, I do clearly remember him shouting at me about it a little while later that evening, by which point I had already lost my memory and had no idea what he was going on about. I thought he was nuts.

my friend told me that when he was 2 or so, he went down to the very bottom of his garden and whispered "bum bum poo". He told me he "thought he was Al Capone" after that.
(apeloveragecommitted the vile act of onanism on, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 12:47,
Reply)

Two friends and I were in the woods, as usual shooting bunnies for the local farmer. It was a cold winter's day, we were togged up far too warm, and our stomachs turned against us (as can happen in that Hot-inside / cold-outside kind of way.)

The other two had already relieved themselves, reporting dangerous bowel-escape velocity... and I was furiously waddling on the spot - buttocks clenched - trying to pretend that my arse wasn't about to explode.

Where to crap? Our eyes rose skywards.

In our woods there were various funky trees, but one was known as "the climbing tree". This name was well earned as it had regular and sturdy branches that any 11 year-old can climb with his/her eyes closed. One side of the trunk was bare, giving a fantastic view from a great height.

"I bet you won't climb that and poo from the top"

5 minutes later, trousers round my ankles and a good 40-something feet off the ground, I was ready to let the pressure go... My mates had retired to a "safe distance" and by Christ I let rip.

With a sound of tearing sail-cloth, mixed with a baked-bean splatter-noise my bowels were evacuated. After the final sputtering squits were squeeezed out, my friends and I were in fits of giggles - leaving me fighting for balance. The relief was marred only by 2 things:

I had negated to take any bog-roll with me.. and as I stood on the branch below begrudgingly hoiking my trollies up, I realised that my footing was worryingly slippery.. and then the final point dawned: my climb down was now dripping in steamy semi-liquid shit. 40 feet of crap-encrusted branches.

I had painted myself into the corner in the worst way imaginable.

Half way down the climb amid shrieks of laughter from my companions - tears of frustration streaming down my face - (And shit dripping on my head from the branches above), I finally slipped; tumbling from branch to branch like a sodden shit-drenched pinball.

The walk home was thankfully short, with no encounters.

I still salute my father who greeted me in the garden. He'd seen me - bloody lipped with a limp making my way across the lawn - and worried, he ran out. The look on his face asked it all, but he kept his lip buttoned.

"I had an accident dad"

He gave me a look that any father would give his shit-encrusted air-rifle-toting 13 year-old and went into the house, emerging 2 seconds later with a bucket or warm soapy water and a massive'n fluffy Dad-sized dressing gown.

"C'mon.. lets get you cleaned up... *sponge - dab - sponge*.... So, did you get any Rabbits?"

***************************************

I hope that when I'm a dad, I too know when *not* to ask the questions that I *really* want to ask.
(Humpty Dumpty was PushedAKA Chuff Nugget, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 12:37,
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I once wrote a naughty word on the blackboard when i was at school
"SHIT"
(turb0t, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 12:34,
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Salty Goodness
When I was at school I put salt in the water jugs for the tables at dinner.I used to get access to the dinner room before dinner... Oh if only I had some Cyanide..I got caught and had to drink a few cups of salty water..... Hmmm nice. See teachers where evil before PC destroyed their evilness!

Also used to target some poor buggers packed lunch by putting pepper in his\her sandwhiches every day for about 2 weeks.

Glass eyed and legless
I slept with this grubby lass once to annoy my mum who had expelled her. (younger readers will know this as 'excluded' or somesuch.)

She had a glass eye which was 'nice'.
(Mr Steveis jobless and fancyfree!, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 11:56,
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RWN's Sarnie-Outcast Story...
...has reminded me of one when I was in Junior School (aged 8 or thereabouts in 1980), though it's not sarnie related - I was the pikey dinner ticket sort.

I've posted about her before but one time when I was new at this particular school a teacher there, Miss Swift, stopped the entire school's morning assembly because I wasn't holding my hands in the correct cherubic-munchkin-on-xmas-cards fashion during the lord's prayer. Her exact words to the entire fucking assembly were "SOMEONE doesn't know how to pray.". FFS. No wonder she was a Miss - I doubt with hindsight that she'd ever been laid and she had to be in her late thirties at the time.

So I was a rebel without even knowing it up until that point, and afterwards began to take my until-then-unrealised atheism to heart, much to Miss Spinster's chagrin. Really, that woman was a twat-and-a-half.
(thatblokeovertherenot quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 11:48,
Reply)

At my primary school, I was forced to eat my packed lunch outside, instead of in the dining hall with the other kids. Why? Because I refused to cut my sandwiches in half. And you couldn't have people openly eating undivided sandwiches, could you? Just think of the chaos that might ensue!

I also refused to wear shorts to school, ever, even though it was mandatory during the summer months. I was embarrassed about my knobbly knees.

Not rebellion, exactly
After taking my final A level, I got all nostalgic for that period of my life (the last time I was afraid of exams) and wrote an eloquent letter to the college director asking if could buy the desk I sat my final exam at. I had remembered the number of the desk, so I knew which one.

The director was so touched by the letter that she read it out to the gathered teachers and I was invited to the school to pick through the hundreds of folded desks to find mine. I paid them a fiver for it and carried it home. That was 17 years ago.

It sits at home now with a laptop on it. The graffiti has faded, but there are the marks of decades of exam-sitters still on it. Can anyone else boast that they still sit at their A level exam desk after almost two decades? Or am I the only one with no friends or life?
(frankspencer, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 10:30,
Reply)

Junior Hannibal Lecter
One afternoon I got sent home from nursery school for being a little b*stard (most out of character I might add).

I wanted to play with the spaceship and so did another lad. A scuffle ensued and during said altercation I bit the kids arm. He yelped and released the spaceship, hooray I've won thought I. Oh no, the bollocking and mighty clip around the ear I received off my mum was bad enough but then I got a second helping off my old man later.

As for the kids arm, it was ok but could have done with more seasoning.
(abefromanskating on the thin life of modern life on, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 10:09,
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History Trip
On the coach on the way to the imperial war museum some guy in our year's mother had packed the wrong bag for his lunch. Instead of sandwiches and crisps she had given him one of her shopping bags containing an onion, a tree of broccoli and a head of lettuce. He rolled the lettuce to the front of the coach, ate the onion and threw the broccoli out the coach window.

GCSE Cider Fest
Upon completion of my GCSE's in 1988, my mate and I bought four litres of cider from a cornershop in Carshalton and went and drank them in the park within about two hours.

From there, we went to Sutton, purchased another two litres of cider each, and sat outside the station drinking it. By this time it was about 4pm. Twice I razzed in a phonebox whilst drinking it and had a couple of pisses behind the Evening Standard box. No one said a thing.

Come six o'clock completely mandrillised. Meet up with two girls for a "celebratory" Pizza Hut (as you did in those days). Carried on trying to work through a pitcher of Heineken in the restaurant...talking shite etc. Cue delivery of two large pizzas to table and I am gripped by an earth shattering razz convulsion. Body violently trembling, I remember desparately trying to hold my lips together to swallow the broth. And then, my sinuses and nostrils gave way under the pressure. Extreme high pressure cider vom all over the girls and the grub. A real Mr Creosote effort. To the girls credit, they mopped the spew off their pizza and still ate it.

Eventually we got chucked out after I spewed again on the floor.

To top things off nicely, I logged my pants on the bus on the way home and then slept for twelve hours in my clothes. Come morning I was in the most disgusting state I have ever been. Naturally I kicked the day off with a nice relaxing hangover wank.
(Mandrill, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 3:25,
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Pointless and juvenile, but it made me smile...
Tonight I had to take my dog to the vet. As I was standing there in the examining room waiting for the vet, I looked around at the pictures on the walls, as you're supposed to do.

My eye was caught by a close-up of a cat's face. The photographer, as I would have guessed, was female. And the title of the photo? "My Beautiful Fanny."

The pun hit me as a lot funnier than it probably is, but mostly because the female vet obviously has no clue about it...
(The Resident LoonNot a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 24 Jul 2007, 2:15,
Reply)

Bet
For a dare i once ate a whole bulb of garlic. It was just before our English lesson which was with Miss Wilson the only fit teacher in the entire school and subject of many adolescent fantasies when someone dared me to eat it. Being young, gullible and eager to impress my fellow class mates i scoffed the raw cloves down with relish* never thinking of the devastating consequences of my actions. It didn't taste too bad actually but jesus the smell! The teacher and anyone else who got within ten feet of me recoiled in horror for about a week after ingesting it as i seemed to have pure garlic puree sweating from every pore. It really wasn't worth the brief moment of glory it garnered me and was soon supplanted when Ian Trennon stacked a load of wires and crocodile clips together in a physics lesson and plugged it into a transformer to see what happened.

I also wrote the entire lyrics of West End Girls onto a tech drawing desk along with "Rooster smells" and "Adolf Hitler European Tour 1939-45" Strangely they made me scrub the lyrics but left the other graffiti. Maybe teachers weren't 80's electronica fans

*No actual relish was consumed in this story

Length? It took the entire desk up
(andythepiemanIs surfing the waves of indifference on, Tue 24 Jul 2007, 0:59,
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I was in a chemistry class...
We were on our fourth teacher, due to various sackings and quittingsages. In fact, the school had run out of actual chemistry teachers, and the new head of chemistry didn't even teach the subject. So we had a supply teacher. Her name resembled the word tree house, which was rather fitting, because she resembled a tree house.

Anyway, one lesson somebody had left a bottle of ethanol out on the side. Not the brilliantest plan ever constructed, that one. Being a class of fifteen- and sixteen-year-old boys, we passed it round, inhaling the fumes and whatnot. Fun but not amazing. Our hapless teacher, of course, failed to notice. Due to the apparent lack of amazingness, I decided we'd be better off if we inserted a paper towel into the bottle to soak up some of the ethanol, and then pass that around for sniffings. Soon we were all getting a little woozy, and the brilliant realisation was made that ethanol burns rather well, and so someone decided to light the piece of paper. Funnily enough, it burned rather well, and the flames were licking the ceiling. The teacher, of course failed to notice this latest progression.

This is where it gets interesting. We suddenly realised that this flaming towel was rather out of our control, and decided we needed to put it out. The most obvious way we could think of at short notice was to stick it under running water, so we turned on the tap and stuck the flaming towel under it. The water diluted the ethanol, but not enough to put it out, and the mixture filled the sink. Our wonderful teacher, bless her, failed to notice the fact that one of the sinks in her lab was on fire, and that the ceiling was more than singed.

Length? Well the flames were about four foot, but they were contained by a ceiling. Classy nonsense in the name of rebellion? I kept what remained of the ethanol for myself =P

To be fair, at a later date I discovered the soaking effects of plugging bunsen burners into water taps, but unfortunately it was too late for trying to put out the flames...
(cynicistcouldn't get rid of the comma on, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 23:41,
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not so much to shock as to entertain
aged 17 and following breaking up with a severly dull gf i decided i needed some excitement in my life and thus grabbing the £40 i had saved up to take her out i went into nottingham to do what any self-respecting teen would do, i got my foreskin pierced!Which was both highly amusing as it is useful, it being a very good conversation starter!about 15 minutes following the piercing i saw said Ex gf and showed her, she complained about me being an idiot and that i would get arrested for indecent exposure, im still waiting to be arrested and i like my genital piercings more than i ever liked her.
(Sheehanforevermore owes Ttssattsr beer, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 22:52,
Reply)

Both my parents
ride motorbikes, have various tattoos, piercings and records of classic rock artists. How did I rebel?

I listened to Bros.

I've since seen sense, and am slowly purloining the LPs one by one, as I've got the only turntable in the property.
(jamesthegillopens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 22:38,
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Life on a farm...
I grew up on farms, my dad being a herdsman on various farms, and he came from a farming background. I don't work on or in fact near any farms, but that's not what I did to shock!

Anyway when I was 7 we were at my grans farm, and they'd recently done the baleing(sp?) so the barns were full of hay bales. We were told not to go in there in case the hay bale stacks collapsed on us.

Of course we ignored this and me and my cousin Tim were in there like a shot, jumping from the top lot onto the lower ones (probably a 30 foot drop)Unforunately this was an open sided barn (basically just a roof with struts holdign it up) so we were in plain view if anyone went past. Now there was a stables nearby and the owner was pretty chummy with my gran, and they did riding lessons, always going past the barn.So there we were jumping around in the hay, when they riding group goes past...'HIDE!'So I jump off to hide in the lower part..only I bounce wrong and smash my head on one of the iron girders that were the struts.A visit to lymington hospital and 3 stitches later and my parents were still none the wiser..why? I told them we'd been walking down a nearby lane and I 'Slipped and fell on some glass'

Later things? Well maybe I'll post more later like about some cousins and their tippex thinner sniffing!
(AsharinStabby stab stab, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 21:07,
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I tried very hard to shock.
It didn't really work.

Stalker Boy tried this, but as far as I got with rebelling, I ended up being encouraged by my mum, who would be the one helping me to dye my hair or whatever.

The furthest I got was being an incredibly mopey teenager, even if I did always do my work and so on and never stayed out late. The benefits are that my parents now totally trust me and never tell me I can't go somewhere or do something. So you see, it's not worth it because trust me, it'll all pay off later.
(Maladicta, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 21:05,
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Aged about 16...
I moved schools. When I went back for a speakers dinner (wtf!) a my old school I decided to get pissed up on the free sherry being handed around. After downing the granny beverage I then felt a little sick and my old biology teacher had to remove me to a taxi while I told him he was a wanker. In the taxi the driver warned me in no uncertain terms not to continue my puking just before I puked on my kilt which served aas a ramp spraying it onto the taxi's dividing plastic screen. I guess my rebelliousness ran out there cause I ended up giving him all my money while grovelling my way out of the taxi.
(Prinskipper Skipple, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 17:19,
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It's the little things that count
My parents, both of them, for as long as I can remember, have always cut sandwiches horizontally. I don't like my parents, so I always cut sandwiches diagonally. This is absolutely true. I'm well 'ard.
(grandmasterflufflesCome to my Armageddon party on, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 16:25,
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High school
Christmas time. Probably about 1983, therefore aged 14 or so. Teacher was late coming into the class, which was music.

On the blackboard were written the words to two Christmas carols - Little Donkey and Jingle Bells.

One enterprising pupil changed the D in Donkey to a W. Then someone else changed the O to an A. And so on, like one of those crap puzzles that you get in Sunday newspapers.

Shortly afterwards, we were looking at the lyrics to Little Wanker and Dangly Balls. How daring was that?

ethnic cool
In our mono-ethnic school, there was not a dark face to be seen. That's what gave me the idea of pretending to be black in order to piss teachers off and get kudos from peers (who were vaguely aware that Michael Jackson was cool - it was the 80s, 'before' he was entirely white).

I effected this by affecting a Jamaican patois ("I be disrespectin' de school, mon") and loping about the place with what I imagined to be a Rastafarian gait. The fact that I was a whey-faced geek did nothing to put me off. As far as I was concerned, I was as ethnic as Bob Marley.

This phase ended abruptly at a school disco, when a trio of legitimate black people mistook my efforts for parody and beat ne to within a hairs' breadth of my life.
(frankspencer, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 14:44,
Reply)

Jihadi recruitment
Terrorist organisations don't recruit - testicular young men who want to go down in history (since they can't go down on your little sister) flock to Iraq, Afghanistan and so on all by themselves, and hurl themselves at al-Qaeda like Lindsay Lohan at a kilo of cocaine.

In the interests of keeping it relevant, I didn't rebel against my parents or school authorities. Why would I? My parents listen to Led Zeppelin, Frank Zappa and Tom Waits. My schoolteachers were hippies with pierced noses (RIP Ms Stevenson-Ryan).

My peers, however, made the Khmer Rouge look like art critics from the New Yorker. I rebelled against them by listening to music that I liked, reading books and masturbating five times a day. (OK, that's a lie. It was more like three.)

I'd love to be able to say that I got a great job as an artist-in-residence at a prestigious university while they languish on the dole, but in fact I got out of high school when unemployment was 12%, and spent about seven years being terminally poor while they got lower-middle class jobs and bred like yeast. I probably will get a prestigious job eventually, but I'm also a living Darwin Award (ain't no addition to the gene pool here, pal) while they spread their seed widely.

There's a lesson in there somewhere, but I'm fucked if I know what it is.
(Emily Bruce-Dickinsonhttp://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Mon 23 Jul 2007, 13:48,
Reply)

Waste of time
Lsst few days of the school year, aged 16, Iran down the main corridor of the school onelunchtime in just my underpants with shortson my head (disguise!). Nobody saw me andnobody believed I'd done it.